


yellow roses

by Glisseo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 19:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/pseuds/Glisseo
Summary: "Lily and Petunia," James muses. "Nice. I think I like Petunia better, though."Lily glowers at him."You must know an awful lot of flowers.""A fair amount.""What's your favourite?""I'm not telling you," says Lily, for no reason other than that she can – and as payback for the Petunia comment.James looks hurt."C'mon, Evans!""Nope."He sighs exaggeratedly. "Fine. Fine! I'll find out some day, though," he says, pointing at her again. "Mark my words … this isn't over, Evans."As usual, he's right. It isn't.





	yellow roses

_A prompt from the wonderful Apalapucian._

**Fifth year**

**September**

"James Potter's coming over!" Mary hisses, and Lily stiffens, because that can never mean anything good. The last time he approached her and her friends in the common room, seemingly to ask for the Charms homework, he'd planted Dungbombs in all of their bags. The stink had been unbearable – they'd had to beg permission from Professor McGonagall to go into Hogsmeade and get new bags immediately, as theirs were unusable. If he and his friends make a person feel uneasy when they're all together, seeing one of them alone – and Potter, no less, possibly the worst of the four – definitely sets alarm bells ringing.

"Maybe he's coming to ask one of us out," whispers Griselda, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. It's swiftly extinguished as James breaks into their circle and flops down into the armchair beside Lily.

"Hullo, Evans," he says brightly. "How's tricks?"

"What do you want?" asks Lily warily. She tries to surreptitiously nudge her bag under her chair, but James notices, and he laughs. The sound is not reassuring.

"Don't panic, I just want to ask you something."

On her other side, Lily can practically feel her friends exchanging looks; they've clearly forgotten that James Potter is hardly likely to ask her out, when her best friend is his nemesis.

"We're looking at careers in Muggle Studies, and for homework we're supposed to write down as many Muggle jobs as we can," James goes on, to the audible disappointment of Lily's friends. "Thought you'd be as good a person as any to ask –"

"I'm not – for heaven's sake, I'm not going to sit here listing all the jobs I can think of," says Lily, rolling her eyes. "I have my own homework, you know."

James laughs again.

"As delightful as it would be to listen to your voice droning on for hours, that wasn't actually what I was going to ask," he says amusedly. "I just wanted to know what your parents do - that's all."

Lily feels her face burn, accompanied by the sharp sting of regret that always follows an unnecessary flare-up. "I - my dad's a teacher, and my mum's a florist. Sorry, I shouldn't have presumed –"

"Ah, it's fine," James cuts in. His eyes are gleaming with interest; he leans in closer to Lily, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Your dad's a teacher? What does he teach?"

"Physics. Science," Lily elaborates, for James' benefit.

"I know what physics is, Evans," he grins. "Do you take me for an idiot? Actually – don't answer that. And your mum's a florist? Ohh … of course she is. It all makes sense now."

"What does?"

"Lily," he says, pointing at her, and it occurs to her that it's the first time he's ever called her by her first name. "And your sister's Petunia …"

Lily blinks at him in astonishment. "How –?"

"You said it in Potions in second year. Slughorn asked you."

She starts to splutter "how can you remember that?", but stops, realising that he must get asked that all the time: he's astonished classmates and teachers alike over the years with his ability to recall things, regardless of when it happened or was said. His habit of citing the particular time or place, too, is particularly disconcerting.

"Lily and Petunia," James muses. "Nice. I think I like Petunia better, though."

Lily glowers at him.

"You must know an awful lot of flowers."

"A fair amount."

"What's your favourite?"

"I'm not telling you," says Lily, for no reason other than that she can – and as payback for the Petunia comment.

James looks hurt.

"C'mon, Evans!"

"Nope."

He sighs exaggeratedly. "Fine. Fine! I'll find out some day, though," he says, pointing at her again. "Mark my words … this isn't over, Evans."

As usual, he's right. It isn't.

**November**

She's alerted to James Potter's presence in the library moments before he slides into the chair opposite her: she's working diligently (or as diligently as one can on a History of Magic essay) when there's a sudden bang from the far corner of the room, followed by a muffled shriek that means Madam Pince can only be confronted with one of four people. The bang, Lily thinks, screams Potter, and her hunch is confirmed when he hurries up to her, glancing warily over his shoulder.

"I'm not going to ask," she says.

"Wouldn't tell you if you did." James pulls a grotesque face, then leans across to peer at her work. "Is that History of Magic? Your handwriting's a bit messy, don't you think? What's a gablon, and why was it revolting?"

The urge to retort  _you're revolting_ flashes across Lily's brain. "Give me that," she growls instead, tugging her essay out of James' hands.

"I think I missed the lesson on gablon revolutions," James goes on. "Can I borrow your notes? I mean, if it came up on the exam I'd be in awful pickle –"

"You'll be in a bit of a pickle now if you don't be quiet," says Lily warningly. "I've got to finish this before Charms club."

"What an exciting life you lead," James yawns. "I don't know how you keep it up. Does Snivellus go to Charms club? Because I have a nifty little charm for de-greasing hair, if he wants it. He need only ask." He pauses. "Although having said that, I'm not sure how powerful it is …"

Lily ignores him and returns to her essay. He's silent for all of two minutes before a thought seems to occur him and he says "daisies?"

"What?" Lily frowns.

"Your favourite flower," he answers, a duh implicit in his tone. "Daisies?"

It takes a moment for Lily to recall the conversation they'd had a month or so earlier.

"Oh," she says. "No."

"No?" James looks dismayed. "Bugger. It took me five weeks to come up with that."

**December**

"Peony," he guesses when he swings by Lily's compartment on the train home. She shakes her head, and he pouts. "Sunflower?"

"No. I thought you'd be a bit quicker to bother me again with this," she says. "What was the hold up?"

"Been busy," he shrugs. "You know, exams … winning Quidditch matches …" he flashes a grin around the compartment.

"Wreaking havoc," says Lily, forcing her expression into one that's distinctly unimpressed.

"Well, that too. OK, one last try before Christmas – snowdrop?"

"Have a good holiday," Lily tells him, smiling winsomely, and he leaves the compartment with his shoulders slumped in mock-anguish.

**January**

At first, she thinks he's forgotten, or perhaps given up – though that doesn't seem likely. His tenacity, determination, is one of the things she does like about him. It's a pity that his arrogance and flashiness override the good qualities, most of the time.

Much to her frustration, he seems to be acting even more pig-headedly lately – she feels like almost every time she sees him, he's hexing a Slytherin or boasting about some achievement on the Quidditch pitch.

But then right at the end of January, on her sixteenth birthday, he sidles up to her in the corridor outside Transfiguration and says, "carnation?"

Lily squints at him. Is it a coincidence that the carnation is her birth flower? The self-satisfied glint in his eye tells her that it's not.

"No," she says.

He shrugs. "Worth a try. Happy birthday, anyway."

In  **February** , he tries azalea, amaryllis and lavender, each to no avail. He also grows slightly taller, and when she watches the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff match at the end of the month, she can feel her pulse racing as he masterfully scores goal after goal. There's something about his narrow lines and angular features that make him more attractive to her than the brooding elegance that has the other girls swooning over Sirius.

But looks aren't everything, and nor is personality. Behaviour is important, too. And his, although not abhorrent (she seems to be spending more and more time arguing with Sev, recently) still isn't right.

**March**

They've been set to work on practice exam questions in Arithmancy – silently, so Professor Vector is far from amused when from behind Lily, James suddenly gasps dramatically, taps her on the shoulder and cries, "tulip?!"

Vector sends him out. Lily shakes her head at him as he leaves; he grins and rumples up his hair. She wishes he wouldn't; it looks far better when it's just normally messy.

Then she kicks herself, because it makes things so much more complicated if she starts caring what James Potter looks like.

**April**

The Easter holidays are spent doing revision, revision and more revision – and then a bit more after that. James and co. provide distractions that are sometimes welcome, but more often not; Remus swats weakly at James and Sirius with his books as they cause minor explosions around the common room, but it doesn't do any good, and it's pure relief when the sun makes a long-awaited appearance and the fifth-years decamp to the lakeside, where the boys' antics aren't so distracting: at least, until James apparently gets bored and decides to wander over to where Lily and her friends sit.

"Hello, ladies!"

"We're revising," says Mary pointedly.

"There's more to life than school," James says, with the air of one imparting great wisdom. "Having fun, seeing the great outdoors … and, speaking of -" his eyes fix on Lily – "Evans!"

"Let's hear it," Lily groans.

"Daffodil?"

She waits a beat, just long enough to send excitement soaring across his face, before saying, "no."

"It feels like that's all you ever say to me," he sighs.

Lily mimics his don't-care shrug. "What're you going to do about it?"

"He fancies you, you know," says Griselda, when James has sauntered back to his friends.

Remembering Sev's words a short while back, Lily says nothing.

"I think he'd be all right if he didn't put on the attitude," Mary comments. "He can be quite nice, really – I mean, if you think about it, he and Sirius only pick on people who can fight back. Not like the Slytherins." She shudders, no doubt at the thought of the horrible Mulciber, and Lily puts an arm around her comfortingly.

"He could be all right," she agrees. "But if he doesn't make the choice to be – well, that's what makes the difference, isn't it?"

**June**

The next time they're all down by the lake, a lot of choices are made. Lily spends the rest of the term confused, angry and upset, and every time she sees James, who has – pleasingly – been keeping his head down, she wonders what he's thinking. She doesn't regret what she said to him. She regrets what he said to her. Does he?

He doesn't speak to her, not to ask about her favourite flower, for the remainder of the school year.

**Sixth year**

**September**

Things are different, this year, noticeably so from the beginning. In the real world, things are getting worse, much worse, and Lily has to bite her lip against the torrent of emotions that rise to the surface whenever she sees Severus with his friends. She can't deny the reality of the fact that sooner or later, they'll be amongst the masked figures referred to in the papers, linked to heinous crimes against people like her. She just wishes she could do something to stop it.

She's not the only one, either. It feels like a match has been lit inside her, sparking a kind of confused happiness, every time she sees James Potter reading the newspaper and then discussing it seriously with the others, or studying advanced spell-books in the library. His smile still makes her stomach flutter, too, and his laugh, and they haven't disappeared: he's still fun, still the cheeky git he always was, but he's toned down the misbehaviour involving others. She likes him. She really likes him.

And she's sure he still likes her, because the flowery interrogations are back with a vengeance. He bounds up to her on the train from King's Cross looking very pleased about something, a something that turns out to be his new encyclopaedic knowledge of flora.

" _Dianthus barbatus_ ," he pronounces triumphantly. Lily giggles.

"Is that a question, or a statement?"

Nonplussed, he says, "question. Naturally."

"Well, the answer is, as always, no."

She feels sufficiently emboldened to pat him on the shoulder as she passes, and says, "you'll get it someday."

"I know!" he shouts after her. "Soon!"

 **October**  is  _gypsophila_ , and  **November**   _digitalis_. In  **December** , he tries  _myosotis_ , and although she shakes her head, he earns the knowledge that she prefers the English name, forget-me-not.

"I will forget-that-not," he jokes, and she rolls her eyes and tries to pretend that she doesn't find it funny.

Perhaps as a result of this encounter, in  **January**  he returns to English names entirely. Her birthday is once again honoured by a question: "I can't believe I haven't tried this already," he says, "but it's not lily, is it?"

"Would I be so obvious?" she demands. "Of course it's not. Not calla lilies, anyway."

"Is it another type of lily?" He taps his chin thoughtfully, and she notices, unhelpfully, that he has stubble dusting his jaw. "Tiger lily? That suits you."

"No, though funny you should say that – it's my parents' nickname for me." She stops, unsure of why she shared that rather intimate bit of information with him. There's something about James these days that uncorks something inside her, letting the conversational floodgates burst open: he's good to talk to. He's a good listener, too.

"Well then, Tiger Lily, I suppose it's back to the books for me," he says cheerfully, with a wink that surely turns her face fuchsia.

 **February**  is orchid's turn,  **March**  has him offering marigold in return for her heartfelt birthday wishes, and in **April**  he tries primrose.

 **May** 's attempt comes as they're paired together in DADA to practice defensive spells: he throws out 'pansy' as Lily raises her wand, and she jokingly demands, "what are you trying to say?" James looks genuinely upset for a moment, apparently believing that he's offended her, before he sees her grin and laughs so infectiously that Lily's stomach aches for the rest of the lesson.

All the while, they've grown closer – by  **June**  ("freesia?" "Sorry") they're definitely friends. Good friends. It feels nice: she recalls her words to Severus, about choosing ways, and reflects that it's nice to have people around her that have chosen the same way as her. You need all the friends you can get at this time: she's lucky to know the people she does, people who accept her for who she is.

**Seventh year**

**September**

Lily stands in the prefects' compartment, enjoying a few moments of peace before the prefects start trooping in and reflecting on the madness of the situation: how mad people will be, some people, that that Muggle-born, too big for her boots has been made Head Girl. She smiles to herself; Dumbledore is a good man. He knows what he's doing.

Then the door slides open and James is there: in the brief moment before he bounds towards her, Lily sees that his badge is already lopsided, somehow, and that makes her smile widen, but then he's seizing her shoulders and laughing wildly, because "I'm Head Boy! Me! And you! Head Girl! Oh, Evans, we're going to bring this place to its knees –"

The stupid grin on his face is exactly how she imagined it in the letter he sent over the summer, and boy, is it good to see it in real life.

"Haven't you got something to ask me?" she asks when he's calmed down. He scratches his chin.

"Er … lilac?"

Lily pulls a face.

"I do like lilacs," she hastens to add when he looks crestfallen. "I mean, I … I think lilacs are great."

It isn't a lie, but perhaps she would have said the same even if it were, just to see his hazel eyes light up. She's treading precariously here, baby steps, because she sort of thinks they're speaking the same language here, but she can't be too sure, can't take it too seriously, just in case.

But as the weeks pass, she becomes pretty certain that there's no need to worry: she feels like she knows, just knows somehow, that something will happen between them. It seems inevitable. She feels safe around him, she feels happy and light and warm, and sometimes he looks at her with an expression that makes her think  _oh yeah, it won't be long._

**October**

James isn't himself that morning at breakfast. He sits beside Sirius with his head bowed, not eating a thing, his shoulders hunched. Worried, Lily slips into a seat next to Peter and asks him, sotto voce, what's wrong.

"His dad's ill," Peter whispers unhappily. "Really ill … it's not good."

God, no. Lily knows how close James is to his father. Everyone does. She looks over at the pale face, wracked with misery and fear, and wishes with all her might that there was something she could do, anything, to make him feel better.

Nothing occurs to her until she and James hold the monthly prefects' meeting to reassign duties. She willingly steps forward to take the lead, acting extra confident and cheerful to make up for James' unusual sombreness and shooting a fierce look at a Slytherin who starts to comment on it. When the prefects file out, James turns his back on her to write down the new assignments, and she takes a deep breath and goes for it.

"Yellow roses."

He turns and says, "what?" blankly. Then his face clears. "Wait …"

Lily just smiles.

"You're kidding," he says incredulously. "All this time, it's been  _yellow roses_? I mean – your mum's a florist! You must know tons of more interesting flowers –"

"I didn't _intend_  for them to be my favourite flowers," Lily protests. "It just so happened that when I thought about it, they were the ones I liked the best. I mean, they're nice to look at, and they make me smile, and …"

She trails off, meeting James' eye.

"Ah," he says, his expression unreadable. "Well, that makes sense. I get that."

He asks her out a week later. It's the fastest yes she's ever given anyone.

Their first date is the first Hogsmeade trip of the year. They arrange to meet in the Entrance Hall, and Lily spends at least ten minutes longer fiddling with her hair and redoing her lipstick, oddly nervous beneath the excitement. Her heart thuds all the way down the stairs, until she reaches the Entrance Hall and sees James, when it positively soars.

He's standing in the middle of the floor, holding a bunch of yellow roses. Passing students and pointing and giggling, the macho Head Boy and Quidditch star waiting for a girl with flowers, but he's not looking at them, he's just looking at Lily.

"I really hope you weren't lying," he says when she reaches him, "or I'll look like a proper twat –"

"I wasn't," Lily swears, sniffing the roses appreciatively. "This is the real deal, I promise you."

 


End file.
